


there's no need to fear

by phcbosz



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt Rick Grimes, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Negan (Walking Dead) Being an Asshole, Non-Sexual Submission, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Possessive Negan (Walking Dead), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-07-04 12:59:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phcbosz/pseuds/phcbosz
Summary: Everything the light touches belongs to him. Everything left in the dark belongs to him. The man quivering on his knees, looking up at him with crazy, fear filled eyes... The man belongs to him. The sooner he gets it, the better, because Negan doesn't mind killing or breaking what he owns.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please mind the tags.

Negan wakes up to the heavy sound of knocking pounding inside his head. What he wants to do is bury his head further into his soft pillow, what he would do before, but his body is already trained and hardened with all the things he has seen, has gone through over the years, so he reaches for the gun on his bedside drawer without even thinking about it.

If it was someone trying to kill him or harm him or whatever the fuck, they would be inside the room right now, not knocking behind the door. Still, it never hurts to be safe. So he grips the gun tightly as he sits up on the bed, and yells out. “What?”

“Negan, it’s me, Simon,” He can recognize the voice even muffled through the door. His hand relaxes on the gun and he sighs, free hand rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Somebody broke in.”

And with that, his whole body tenses again and he sighs once more, heavy and long, wishing he had just buried his head into the pillow so he could escape reality for a little more.

When he is dressed and walking the halls with Lucille swinging in his hand, he listens as Simon runs down what happened. “He killed Skinny Joe but then came across Emily, the little girl, and we woke up to her scream—“

“Fuck!” Negan curses, hand tightening its grip on Lucille. The different ways he is gonna kill that bastard rush into his head and the more sadistic part of him whispers torture like a mantra. Torture. He will make that son of a bitch regret ever being born, let him stew on it for a few years, and then end his misery. Not because he will want to end his misery but he will probably be bored by then. Emily, she was barely six—

“She is fine!” Simon rushes to assure him and Negan scowls at the man for giving him a scare like that but the relief that rushes through his body is too pronounced. Emily is alive. “Scared but okay. The pussy couldn’t kill her, that’s why he got caught.”

“You got a fucking name for him?” Negan asks before he pushes open the door to the backyard where the guy is waiting for him, kneeled on the ground, his pussy body shaking with fear. Or, maybe he is not shaking just now, but he will. Negan will make him.

“He wouldn’t really cooperate. I’m not even sure he can talk,” Simon shrugs and Negan hums, his eyebrows going upwards in surprise. Well, if he is able to talk, Negan will make him squeak.

When he opens the door, everyone’s eyes turn to him and almost everyone bows except the Saviours that are holding the guy back and the ones who have a gun on him. He waves a hand dismissively as he stalks towards the kneeling man, taking his appearance in.

Wild brown curls frame his sunken face, too skinny with hollow, crazy blue eyes. A wild beard streaked with grey and a sneering mouth. He looks like a trapped animal, scared and enraged, and Negan can see the glint in his eyes, promising something dangerous. He smirks. He will make that light go out, he will. “What the fuck happened to him?” He asks, waving a hand to the guy’s heavily bruised bloody face and he crouches in front of him with a slight groan. Fuck, he is getting old.

“He wouldn’t kneel,” Dwight tells him.

At the mention of kneeling the man struggles against their hold again and Negan thinks this guy must either be really stupid or really brave, maybe a mix of both. “What the fuck’s your name, dipshit?”

The man sneers even harder before he leans back and before Negan can process it, spits with all he has. Negan flinches, mouth turning down in disgust as the saliva tinged with red hits his cheek, sliding down. “No,” he orders Dwight when he looks like he will kill the man right there. He sighs before he speaks, using the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his face. “Now, that wasn’t very fucking smart, dipshit.”

When he slaps the man hard enough that his body falls to the side, leaving Negan’s palm stinging, the sound echoes around the room and some people jump in shock, he can hear Amber whimpering. They are all waiting for the moment Negan will have enough and make the guy’s head a mush on the ground. Negan is waiting for that too.

When they pull the guy’s limp body up again, Negan wonders if he killed the guy by bitch slapping him because Dipshit isn’t moving, all but a ragdoll in the Saviours arms. He slaps the guy’s cheek once again, softer and only like a nudge, to wake him up. Dipshit jumps up, and his left eye flutters open, revealing his electric baby blues, watery and with tears at the corners. His right eye is so swollen that it doesn’t open. “Are you fucking suicidal?” He asks, gripping the guy’s chin hard enough to bruise when he doesn’t reply, one eye looking glazed and distant. Damn. The Saviours must have done a number on him while trying to get him to kneel. “I’m talking to you, Dipshit. If you’re trying to fucking get yourself killed, this isn’t the fucking way to do it. No. This way, I will make sure you don’t die but fucking suffer. So, if you want a quick, easy death, I suggest you start fucking talking.”

Dipshit looks more focused by the time Negan is finished and he opens his mouth to reply, and everybody is holding their breaths at this point. But for some fucking reason, he turns his one ball to the side and Negan can see his pupil widen as he sees something, someone.

The silence stretches for another minute, too long for Negan’s liking, and he is getting restless, and he is two seconds away from just killing the guy and going back to his bed. Dipshit is still staring at the same spot.

Then he starts laughing, sudden and booming, echoing around the room even though it’s packed with people watching the show. Negan’s eyebrows hit his hairline in surprise as the man laughs, haunted and hysterical, body shaking in the tight hold of the Saviours, still staring at the same spot. “I found you! I found you and I’m gonna kill you!” He yells across the room and Negan finally turns his head to see Jason’s ashen face looking at Dipshit like he has seen a ghost. “You can’t run anymore! I found you! I found you! You are dead! Dead! I’m gonna rip your throat out with my bare teeth but only after I make—“

Negan slaps Dipshit again and the man doesn’t even seem like he feels it, just picks himself up the ground again, wild eyes finding Jason before smirking and opening his mouth to scream threats again. “Hey!” Negan yells, having had enough. His hand finds Dipshit’s face again, turning his head so they can make eye contact. “That’s enough.”

Dipshit sneers at him but that’s his regular expression at this point so Negan ignores it. At least the guy shuts up. Negan turns to Jason who is shaking in his shoes, uses his hand to call him over. Jason just looks at him with wide eyes, seeming frozen in spot. “Come here,” Negan orders with a roll of his eyes. “Now.”

Jason all but runs to him before coming to a stop next to Dwight, crouching down just like Negan, so they are the same height. “You two fucking now each other or something?”

“No, sir, I’ve never—“ Jason’s eyes flicker to Dipshit before his gulps, hanging his head low. “Never seen this man before. In my life.”

“Right,” Negan replies after a second, licking his lips. Something in his gut tells him Jason is lying. He turns his head to Dipshit again, who is still looking at Jason with that murder look in his eyes. “Dipshit, do you know this man here?”

“Fuck you,” Dipshit spits at him before turning to Jason again and struggling against the Saviours hold. “It’s over now, Jason. You’re already dead!”

Dipshit knows Jason’s name.

Negan slaps the man again and in his defense, the guy has a really slappable face. “I’m sick of this shit, Dipshit. If you don’t want me to fucking kill you right now, and I fucking will if you push me hard enough, you better start now. Do you know this man?”

“Oh, I would say we are quite familiar,” Dipshit chuckles like that’s a joke, something is hidden in that statement. Jason flinches like he also knows the joke and doesn’t feel like laughing. Tension crackles in the air and Negan sucks his teeth, thinking about it while his hand caresses Lucille, minding the barbed wire.

“Is what I’m hearing fucking true, Jason? Are you lying to me?”

“No, sir, I wouldn’t, sir. I’m telling the truth, sir,” Jason rushes out through his quivering lips and Negan rolls his eyes again.

“Now, Dipshit,” Negan says as he turns his head to the crazy man once again. “Who do I believe? My own Saviour, who I fucking trust, or you, the crazy dude with a motherfucking death wish, who’s face looks like a god damn baboons' ass?”

Dipshit’s face twists in anger, cheek even more tight with lips pulled down higher in a smirk like sneer. His blue eyes glint with hate and if looks could kill, Negan doesn’t doubt that he would be lying dead on the ground that second. “I don’t need some rapist ass dictator with a fragile masculinity and so many insecurities that he walks with swagger and names a bat just so he can pretend he has a big dick to believe me.”

That’s so many insults packed into one sentence that Negan forgets what Dipshit has said at the beginning by the time he is done. He thinks back to the sentence and it takes a second for his brain to finally catch up. “Dipshit,” Negan sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his ungloved hand. “You are really fucking pushing me here… I don’t even wanna fucking know why you think I am a damn rapist, or that I don’t have a big motherfucking dick, both pretty offensive fucking things to say to a person you just fucking met—I’m just sick of your damn shit and I wanna go back to sleep. So, here’s what we are gonna do: I’m gonna let Jason kill you. And you will die knowing all the bullshit you just fucking screamed at the guy meant nothing and in the end, he ended up being the one fucked you in the ass, raw, without even spit as lube. How does that sound?”

Negan takes pride in the way Dipshit’s face pales and pales until it’s ashen white through his speech. He licks his lips through the smirk when the man flinches at his vulgar vocabulary. “What? Do you expect me to beg?” Dipshit asks him and there is a certain exhaustion in his voice, the lines around his eyes tired and not from laughing, like a lot of people expect him to beg a lot of the time. “I didn’t beg him,” His head flicks to Jason and then back to Negan, and when he smirks, his teeth are tinged red with his own blood that is still rushing down through his chin. “I won’t beg you.”

Normally, Negan doesn’t like stalling and he is a guy who keeps his promises. Normally, he would be giving the order to Jason to kill Dipshit already. But normally, he doesn’t have this gut feeling that something is wrong with the picture, the voice behind his ear nagging him to dig deeper. So, he rolls his eyes and sighs again. “Dipshit, we already came to a conclusion that you don’t actually know Jason, stop with that fucking bullshit already.”

Negan curses himself for having expected Dipshit to take the bait and tell him how he knows Jason already because obviously, that’s not gonna happen. They stare at each other for at least half a minute, tension still tense in the air with Negan’s eyes searching Dipshit’s. “I changed my fucking mind,” he declares suddenly, and someone in the crow surrounding the room flinches. “Tell me how you ‘know’ Jason and maybe I will let you live.”

“I met him outside the walls, two weeks ago,” Dipshit looks straight at Jason, something chilling in his gaze. Chilling? Interesting.

“Is that true, Jason?” Negan asks.

“No, sir,” Is the reply.

“See, Dipshit, you’re gonna have to offer more fucking proof if you want me to believe you,” Negan shrugs as he says it and he is aware that people watching are getting restless, tired, and Negan’s knees has started to ache from crouching down for so long. He wants this to be as fast as possible so he can just return to his bed. If he even can return to his bed. He won’t have any time left is this goes on. “Make it fast.”

Dipshit looks at him with curious eyes, searching, thoughtful. Trying to determine if Negan is worth convincing or something. And Negan was right. The guy is fucking suicidal. Who thinks this much about sharing a bit of information that will save their lives? Fucking psychos.

“He has a vertical scar on his right thigh, a tattoo of a cross on his left arm, a knife wound on his side,” Rick lists as he tilts his head, looking Negan straight in the eye as if trying to prove a point. He is proving a point. Negan doesn’t really need to pull down Jason’s pants and check his thigh to see if he has a scar. His gasp of fear is enough to convince him. “Four-inch dick and he comes too fast.”

The last words are uttered like an insult meant for Negan, spat on his face. Something cold settles in his bones because the chance that Dipshit and Jason just had casual sex is very unlikely. Yet Dipshit knows about Jason’s dick size. Negan thinks about how this is not how he wanted to start his at all as he licks his lips, staring back at Dipshit with a furrow of his eyebrows. “How do you know about dear Jason’s dick size, Dipshit?”

“Well,” Dipshit trails off a little, tilting his head from side to side like he is thinking of his answer and Negan picks up on the mocking way the guy does it, swallows it with his wide-open eyes, not sleepy anymore. “I’ve had his dick in me, kind of hard not to notice.” He doesn’t flinch, blink, or even breathe as he says it. Like it’s easy to say it. Something in his eyes though, tells Negan that it’s not. The coldness in his stomach grows.

“And I’m guessing it wasn’t fucking consensual sex,” Negan asks or states, he doesn’t know. Dipshit doesn’t answer except for a small scoff, as if saying ‘what do you think?’ or ‘what do you think, asshole?’ because Negan doesn’t have any doubts that Dipshit is cursing his every little move inside his head in a rapid pace right that second.

“Jason,” Negan breaks the silence after ten seconds, and he gets up with a grunt, his knees popping. “Is what I’m hearing fucking true?”

“No, sir,” Jason denies again and at this point, Negan is really getting sick of it.

“Jason,” Negan tries again, towering over the shaking man. “Don’t fucking lie to me. Do you know this crazy son of a bitch?”

“I’ve—I’ve seen him before, sir, on a run. He went Berserk on me but ran—ran away before I could kill him. He must have—he must have—he is obsessed, sir. With me.”

Negan hums, turning around to look at Dipshit again, a question on his face. Dipshit scoffs. “You are not that stupid, are you?” The man asks him and Negan wouldn’t let that kind of talk slide normally but this situation is far from normal as it is. “Why would he lie about meeting me before if he didn’t have anything to hide? How do I know the scar on his thigh if he only met me once on the road? Why does he keep lying?”

“Jason?” Negan asks as he rubs his beard, making a note to shave that shit later. “Get on your knees.”

“Sir, Negan, sir, I didn’t—“

“Get on your fucking knees fuckface,” Negan orders again with a roll of his eyes and Jason drops to his knees with a thud. “Now, we’re gonna play a fucking game. And by game, I mean a serious game. I’m gonna ask you some questions and you’re gonna answer so I can determine which one of you fucks is lying. And then I will beat the shit out of the one who turns out to be the damn liar. Got it?”

Both Jason and Dipshit nod so Negan starts pacing around as he thinks of his questions. “Fuckface,” he addresses Jason, pointing Lucille at him. The man trembles with fear. “Why the fuck did you lie about having met Dipshit here?”

“I didn’t report—report seeing him, sir. I was afraid you would be mad at me for—for not killing him. I’m sorry, sir, for lying, sir. I was just—just afraid. Sir.”

That’s a good answer but Dipshit scoffs with disbelief and amusement. Like this is amusing. His life is on the line and the crazy son of a bitch finds it funny. Negan rolls his eyes again.

“Jason, Jason, Jason,” Negan tuts, shaking his head, “Why do you keep fucking lying to me? How the fuck would he know about the damn scar on your thigh or your fucking dick size if you just met him once, on the road?”

“I’m—sir—I’m not—he must have—stalk me. Sir. He must have stalked me and—and he is clearly obsessed with me. You can see, sir. He is crazy!” Jason sounds more desperate as time ticks by and Negan is pretty sure Jason raped Dipshit at this point and he is just having a little fun and proving a point. It is clear that Dipshit thinks they are all just a bunch of rapists and that’s never a good impression to make. Negan will clear his name, using Jason.

“Look, Jason,” Negan crouches in front of the trembling man, frowning, “I like you. You are a good fucking man and a good shot. That’s a great combination. But I can’t have you fucking lying to me, Jason, can I?” Jason shakes his head rapidly, eyes wide and tearful. Pathetic. “You know the one thing I value most in this life is the truth. That’s all I’m fucking asking. Just tell me the truth. It’s clear that you raped this man so stop fucking lying about it! Just tell me the truth and I will introduce Dipshit to Lucille for breaking in and killing Skinny Joe, you will serve three days in the cell for lying to me and after that… We will just go on our merry fucking ways. Easy, right?”

Jason nods and smiles back at Negan and it is easy to act for Negan, to keep a smile up while he feels like bashing skulls in with rage. That’s how he manages to keep his smile up and not cringe away with disgust. “Yes, sir, easy, sir,” Jason agrees.

“So?”

“I—I raped him, sir. I did,” Jason confesses, his eyes flicking to Dipshit for a second before they meet Negan again and there is something else in them—now that he isn’t scared shitless and is encouraged by Negan, Jason looks proud. Proud of himself. Negan smirks wider.

“Good, that’s all I wanted to hear!” Negan exclaim cheerfully, getting up to stand tall over Jason, looking down on him. Lucille thrums in his hand with the need to pour the fuckface’s blood on the ground and Negan looks to the side, makes eye contact with Dipshit before licking his lips with anticipation. He winks. Then swings Lucille.

She makes a sound between a solid thump and a wet crunch when she meets Jason’s face, and several people scream with shock. The barbed ire catches onto Jason’s skin and hair, getting ripped off when Negan pulls Lucille back. Jason is also screaming, full of pain and his body falls down on the ground, not dead but getting there. Negan lets him suffer just because he can.

“You,” Negan points Lucille at a worker, some of the blood coating her dripping everywhere with the sudden move. “Tell me the punishment for rape.”

“Death,” the guy sounds sure of himself, lips pulled down in a scowl as he eyes Jason’s crying body. “Rape is punishable by death, sir.”

“Correct!” Negan yells out, turning around so he can address everyone, including Dipshit. “We are the Saviours! We do not rape! It’s a simple fucking rule, people. You don’t rape one of our own, you don’t rape strangers, you don’t rape your own fucking girlfriend, you don’t rape the damn enemy!” He yells his speech and everyone nods along, agreeing. A silent settles in the room when he is done and he turns around on the heel of his foot, facing a sobbing Jason again. He raises Lucille, “We,” And brings her down on Jason’s head, making blood splash everywhere, “Do,” Again. “Not,” Again. “Rape!”

And then he keeps going, pants falling through his mouth as the wind rushes through him with every swinging motion of his arm, his blood thrumming in his veins with adrenaline. There is no other excitement like this, taking a life, their head caving under your bat, their bodies twitching with every collide, their blood on the ground, their brains everywhere, only mush. Negan smirks.

He exhales when he is done, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, and realizing his hand was bloody a second later. “Well, I hope you all learned a valuable fucking lesson today!” He exclaims, giddy and with a grin. Blood on his face and arms stretched out on his sides. “Clean this shit up before a fucking kid sees or something.”

Then he turns around, walks towards Dipshit and crouches in front of him, grabbing his chin to turn his head away from Jason to himself. “Your threats of killing him were for nothing after all.”

Dipshit yells out, struggles against their hold to hit Negan and Negan chuckles, getting up again, looking down on Dipshit who keeps struggling. Everything must be hurting for the man yet he still struggles. Crazy bastard. “Throw this one in the cell,” he orders.

He watches as they pull the man away and drag him on the floor, his smirk still on his lips. “Show’s over, people. Go on, scatter,” he orders with a dismissive hand and nobody even waits a second before they are all walking in different directions. “Dwight,” he yells out, stopping the man. He pulls him in from his shoulder with a tight grip, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Here’s what I want you to do…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which rick makes bad life decisions and negan makes even worse ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dipshit is rick if you forgot, because lord knows i do sometimes!

Negan waits three days before he visits Dipshit. He asked Dwight to get it out of him but Dipshit was stubborn, wouldn’t give his name, so he is still Dipshit. It doesn’t really matter right now but if Negan’s plan works, they will need that name later.

The sound of ‘easy street’ playing enters his ears when he walks down the hallway to the little cell. Even hearing it for two seconds, he is annoyed. He wonders how Dipshit managed.

He balances the tray in his hand on his left hand, turns to Fat Joe before he opens the door, “Wait here,” he orders. Then unlocks the door, pushes it, and gets in with a cheerful whistle on his lips. The music dies.

Dipshit is in the corner of the room, farthest from the door, knees pulled up to his chest and hands on his eyes to block out the sudden brightness. “Dipshit!” Negan exclaims cheerfully, smirking, “Did you miss me?”

Dipshit raises his head, squints at Negan, then at the tray in his hand. Negan wonders if he can smell the food in it with how hungry he must be. “I missed you,” he shrugs, walking until he crouches in front of the man, putting the tray down on the floor. Dipshit’s eyes follow it. “You hungry?”

“Yes,” Dipshit replies through gritted teeth and Negan can hear the sheer hate in his voice. He rolls his eyes. “But something tells me that food will cost something.”

“You’re smart, I’ll give you that,” Negan chuckles, getting comfortable in his spot. Dipshit’s voice is hoarse from not talking the past three days and Negan feels pride at the fact that he is the only one who can get the man to talk. “It will cost you some fucking questions. Fair deal, right?”

“Can I have some clothes?” Dipshit asks him and Negan’s smirk gets wider.

“Maybe, if you are a good boy,” he purrs as a reply and Dipshit’s face twists with anger and disgust, shadows falling on the one side of his face, light hitting the other one. “Now, Dipshit, tell me, how the fuck did you get in to the Sanctuary?”

Dipshits sucks his teeth, thinking about his reply for a second. “The vents.”

The vents. Of course. Negan never even thought of that. “Why?”

“To kill Jason.”

“Why?”

“For revenge,” Dipshit shrugs and Negan nods.

“How long have you been out there, alone?” Negan can guess that it’s been a long fucking time.

“Since the beginning,” Dipshit explains and at the look Negan is giving him continues, “There was one group but for a short time. A herd. I’m the only one who survived.”

“Then why the fuck are you still alive, Dipshit? Why not just, I don’t know, put a bullet in your head and be done with it?” Dipshit must be skilled to be still alive. It’s tough out there. Even tougher alone.

“I like being alive,” Dipshit replies, rolling his eyes. That’s good to know.

Negan sucks his teeth, then adding some curiosity to his voice, “Why didn’t you just kill the little girl or at least take her hostage?”

“Do I need a reason to not kill a little girl?” Dipshit asks him with raised brows in which to Negan shrugs.

“Then why not run? You had the time. We didn’t even know about the vents. You would make it out of here and we wouldn’t be able to do shit.”

Dipshit stares at him for a few seconds, biting down on his abused bottom lip as he thinks about his answer. Negan is just about to snap when the man finally speaks. “I thought you were all a bunch of rapists. I couldn’t just leave her behind.”

Negan accepts it with a nod, pushing the tray closer to the man. “Go ahead.”

Dipshit doesn’t waste a second to reach for the glass of water, drinking it on desperate gulps like it will disappear out of his hand. That’s what this world does to you. You act like everything will disappear out of your hands.

Negan watches the whole time as Dipshit gulp down the blueberry pancakes, not even bothering with the fork. Then the man eyes the eggs and the strawberries, look at him with furrowed brows. “Can I save some for later?”

“No,” Negan replies firmly.

Dipshit doesn’t argue, just eats the eggs with his hands too, doesn’t touch the strawberries. Negan raises an eyebrow up in question when the man pushes the tray away, showing that he is done with the food. “I’m allergic to strawberries,” he explains.

“Good to know,” Negan nods and then get up with a grunt. “Get up.”

Dipshit just looks up at him, unimpressed. “Don’t make me ask again. Get up.”

The man gets up slowly, wincing with every movement. He must still be hurting. Negan rolls his eyes, grips the man’s shoulder tightly before he pulls him up. Dipshit only grunt silently, biting down on his bottom lip.

Once Dipshit is standing straight—or as straight as he can with his probably broken ribs—Negan’s eyes flicker down involuntarily. Bruises color the man’ torso, especially around his ribs but that doesn’t stop Negan from appreciating the light hair that dusts the man’s chest, nipples pink and erect from the cold, the happy trail that unashamedly leads to the man’s crotch, making Negan licks his lips. Dipshit has his hands in front of himself, shielding his dick from Negan’s eye and Negan smirks.

“Can I get some clothes?” Dipshit asks through gritted teeth and Negan can’t be sure but it looks like the man might be blushing under all that man bush. It’s probably from anger rather than embarrassment but seriously, blushing? Negan almost laughs.

“No need to be shy, Dipshit,” Negan chuckles, “You belong to me. Your hot damn body? It also belongs to me.”

Once the words leave his mouth, Negan realizes it might not be that smart to say that to a rape survivor. But he was never known for holding back for someone else’s sake so he doesn’t let himself feel guilty for the way Dipshit’s face drops, paling rapidly with his eyes getting wider.

Before he can do anything to soften the blow, Dipshit lunges forward anyways so any thought of feeling guilty leaves Negan’s mind, leaving anger behind. Dipshit packs a good punch that makes Negan groan, but he is injured and lightheaded from hunger, despite having just ate. So, it is easy for Negan to punch the guy back, and then slam him to the wall.

They pants for a few seconds, Negan pressed behind Dipshit and trapping his body between himself and the wall. “That wasn’t a very smart thing to do, Dipshit,” Negan chuckles and Dipshit starts kicking around, trying to get free. “Stop it! Do you really want to fucking piss me off more? Huh?”

“No, no,” Dipshit yells out, struggling even more and Negan pulls him back, only to slam him harder into the wall. “No!”

“Fucking—stop it!” Negan doesn’t know how long he keeps Dipshit like that, trapped between him and the wall but it takes at least a few moments for Dipshit to calm down and still, panting harshly just like Negan. Normally Negan would make a joke about how all that action got him excited but he is not that much of an asshole. He can see that Dipshit is struggling—that’s why he allows the man to ride his rage out instead of beating the shit out of him. “You done?”

“Yes,” Dipshit replies, and his voice is wrecked, hoarse. “Let me go.”

“No,” Negan denies, and he almost expects Dipshit to start struggling again but the man just sobs. Negan doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. On the one hand, Negan knows how to deal with crying people, on the other hand, it’s different from the Dipshit Negan has come to know. The man is probably more fucked up then Negan has thought him to be, to have mood swings like this. “Now, I wasn’t actually gonna make you stroll around butt naked but you pissed me off Dipshit. You really fucking did. Maybe that’s what your punishment should be—“

“No!” Dipshit argues, pressing even closer to the wall to get away from Negan’s hot breath hitting his neck, Negan’s chest pressed against his back. “Don’t—don’t do this.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You’ve been nothing but a pain in my fucking ass since you strolled down here through my damn vents and killed Skinny Joe—and I never punished you for that, did I? Without Skinny Joe, Fat Joe is just Joe, but I didn’t introduce you to Lucille, I didn’t burn your face… No. I’ve been nothing but welcoming and this is how you pay me back? With blatant fucking disrespect?”

“I’m—I’m sorry! Just—just stop this! Please! I’m sorry!” The man sounds pathetic and two seconds away from a mental breakdown. Normally Negan would find that shit annoying but once again, this situation is far from normal.

Negan takes a step back and Dipshit inhales a sigh of relief, turning around to face Negan with his hands in front of himself again. “You gonna behave Dipshit? Gonna be a good boy for me?” Once again, not a good thing to say judging by Dipshit’ violent flinch and the way he bows his head in defeat but Negan is still angry so fuck it.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes,” Dipshit repeats but doesn’t add the ‘sir’ no matter how much Negan stares at him, unimpressed.

“Dipshit, do I need to remind you that you are on thin fucking ice here?” Negan is seriously getting pissed off and he raises a hand to rub the bridge of his nose.

“No.”

“No what?” He asks again, stepping closer to the man. Dipshit looks alarmed, steps back only to meet the wall, defiant and scared blues raised up to look at Negan.

“No, sir.”

“Atta boy,” Negan praises with a chuckle and then leans even closer until his head is right against Dipshit’s ear, feels the man tremble in front of him, and with a smirk, “Don’t do anything stupid like that ever again. It won’t end well for you, Dipshit.”

He waits until Dipshit nods to step back. “Fat Joe,” he yells out and Joe steps inside, the clothes still in his hands. Negan makes grabby hands at them and Joe hands them over with a little smile Negan returns. He likes Fat Joe. “Get the fuck out of here,” he orders and Fat Joe all but runs away at his harsh tone.

Dipshit watches all of this happen, bemused. “Here you go, fuckface,” Negan say as he hands the clothes over and Dipshit takes them out of his hand hastily.

“You aren’t gonna say anything?” Negan asks as he watches Dipshit pull the sweatpants up as fast as he can, bended over. He would prefer to watch the show from behind where he could see Dipshit’s ass but he can guess that this is not the right time to ogle the guy. “Dipshit?”

“What do you want me to say?” The man asks him as he straightens up, putting on the sweatshirt as well.

“I don’t know, Dipshit. How about a thank you?” Negan doesn’t know what it’s with this guy that pisses him off so much but he is so irritated around him that he wonders if this is all worth it. Maybe he should just kill the bastard and be done with it…

“Thank you, Negan,” the answer is immediate and said with actual gratitude that Negan is shocked. He takes a second to consider it and then comes to a realization. Yep. This guy is more fucked up than Negan had thought indeed.

Once Dipshit is fully dressed in the stained sweatpants and the sweatshirt with the spray painted ‘A’ on it, they take a stroll. Negan shows him around, telling him about everything. The point system, The Saviours, the perks of being a Saviour and all that shit. Dipshit doesn’t say anything, just limps beside him silently, shining eyes observing everything from the bare grey walls to the way people kneel when Negan is passing by.

Negan ends the show at the backyard, where Dipshit kneeled before him and where the spot where Jason’s brain used to be is cleaned. Dipshit tenses for some reason and Negan can’t read the man at all, can only guess what he is thinking in that perfectly-normal-sized brain of his.

“So, Dipshit, what do you think?” He asks, opening his arms by his sides widely, a smirk on his lips.

“I’m thinking there must be a reason for you to show me around other than you wanting to show off,” Dipshit mutters dryly, eyeing the Saviours starting to surround them.

Negan chuckles, chest going backwards in the mirth of his laugh. “You think correct, Dipshit. Now, I told you about the fucking point system, I told you about the Saviours. Now, it’s time to make a choice. Which one do you wanna be?”

Dipshit looks unimpressed, just staring at him without a reply, and Negan pushes a little more. “I believe it is an easy as fuck decision. Do you want to have an easy life, living in luxury and pussy, or do you want to wish you were dead, barely getting enough to eat every day? Come on, Dipshit! The choice is easy unless you are fucking stupid, which you very well may be—“

“Can’t I just leave?” Dipshit asks him and shifts from one foot to another when Negan’s face drops to a scowl. “I like being alone—“

“People are a resource, Dipshit. You can’t fucking blame me for not just throwing resources out,” Negan shrugs but deep down he is angry. This didn’t go according to plan at all. If Dipshit wants to leave, he will do it at the first chance he gets, so Negan has no choice but to throw him back to that cell and wait a little while. Negan doesn’t like waiting. He wonders if this is all worth the effort.

“So, I don’t really have a choice, do I? This is just like a prison,” Dipshit shakes his head, curl bouncing as he looks down up at Negan with a fire in his blue eyes. “Tell me, does it really matter if I have pussy and a bed to sleep on, hot water, food in my belly, if I don’t have the most important thing, my freedom?”

“Your freedom won’t fucking keep your stomach full when you are out there starving,” Negan reminds as to which Dipshit shrugs.

“I would rather die hungry a free man than be a satiated slave.”

Negan rolls his eyes. Fucking dramatic asshole. “You’re gonna die a hungry slave if you keep that shit up, Dipshit,” He warns with a growl, aware of the Saviours watching curiously. Negan doesn’t normally let anyone question or criticize his ruling unless they are on the board and The Saviours look surprised that he is letting Dipshit do it without beating his ass with Lucille.

“Go ahead then. Lock me up. No matter what you do, I’m not kneeling for an egotistical man-child who still laughs at dick jokes—"

Negan slaps Dipshit, cutting his sentence off. The man’s head snaps to the side and not a second passes before Dipshit turns his head to make eye contact again. Negan scowls, his hand still tingling with his anger. “Somebody still hasn’t learned their fucking place,” He tuts, shaking his head before gripping Lucille tightly to swing it over until it’s inches away from Dipshit’s face.

The wind rushes through his ears with the movement and Dipshit’s curl fly away with the breeze, revealing his eye even more clearly. The man doesn’t flinch and Negan smirks. “You don’t scare easy!” He exclaims, excited. Lowering down Lucille, he continues, “I like that!”

Then he brings Lucille down on the man’s side, making him yelp as he falls down to his knees, and if his ribs weren’t broken before, they definitely are now. Negan could almost hear the crack of bone giving out. But the wires don’t catch on skin, and Negan is satisfied with that. He doesn’t want to give Dipshit more scars, he doesn’t want to ruin the man’s perfect skin. “But Lucille? She finds it to be disrespectful.”

He grips Dipshit’s hair, the curls soft in his hand, and when he pulls Dipshit tries to rise to his feet to lessen the pain but he doesn’t manage to because Negan flips him around, so that he is laying on the floor on his belly. “So I think I should teach you a fucking lesson, Dipshit,” The man struggles trying to get up but it takes Negan just pressing the tip of Lucille gently on his back to make him stop. A threat more powerful than death. “And I am not a fan of repeating myself, so you better listen and you listen good…”

“Do you know what would happen if I striked you down… right here?” He presses on the man’s spine and Dipshit’s exhale is louder than Negan’s heart beating in his ears from the power rush of having a man fear the shit out of you. “One hard blow? You would be a fucking cripple, Dipshit! That was hard shit before the world went to fuck but now? Now being a cripple is worse than death. You wouldn’t want that. I wouldn’t want that. I want you to work for me, and you can’t do that if you can’t fucking walk, now can you?”

Dipshit doesn’t answer, just lays there on the ground, head on the side and looking straight ahead, like there is something to see other than the fence and the walkers impaled on it. “This is what you have to understand: If I beat the shit out of you right now, and you end up as a fucking cripple, you will be my fucking cripple! If you end up being a corpse, you will be my fucking corpse! I own you, Dipshit. I own your sassy little mouth and your cute little ass, and I own your life now. You belong to me! So, get that dying as a free man bullshit out of your mind because if you want to die, sure, I will lend a fucking help and kill you right now but after you are dead, I will impale you on that fence right here and you will serve me as a dead man. You are not free! You never will be! The sooner you understand that with your stupid fucking brain, the better!”

By the time his little speech is finished, Negan is kneeling down on the floor beside Dipshit, panting from anger. “You get it now?” He asks and Dipshit finally looks up, their eyes meeting with the blue eyed man’s shining under the sun’s rays.

“You are the one who doesn’t get it, Negan.”

It takes a lot of control for Negan to not drop his neutral face, not scowl like he wants to. But in the end, he just stares Dipshit right in the eyes, hoping the convey something he doesn’t know. It may not be worth the effort at all, but Negan likes the feisty ones. It’s no fun when they bow and lick his fucking boots without even being asked to.

And the fire… the fire is in the feisty ones too. Those are the ones you sink your claws in nice and deep, so you won’t let go even though they struggle and scream.

He stares at Dipshit. Dipshit stares right back. It’s proven to Negan once again that he should try harder, because it will be worth it in the end. He can feel it in the thick air that surrounds the little bubble that he and Dipshit stare at each other in.

After that Negan gets up and leaves, a whistle leaving his mouth as he throws Lucille over his shoulder. Dipshit is proving to be a hard egg to crack but giving up is no longer an option now. Negan is a stubborn man and this challenge just became his new obsession. And he will not stop until he has Dipshit kneeling in front of him, completely and utterly broken. Completely and utterly Negan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Negan's even a bigger asshole and he has no idea what he wants. Rick is suffering, as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i legit dont know what im doing w this fic and im sorry. im also sorry for the late updates i just need a month of doing nothing after writing like. one word.
> 
> also if you dont like smth im doing or u find some grammar mistakes (bc im shit at english this language is weird) please let me know so i can try to do better!! and if u like smth and u want to comment about it... well. dont be shy!! comments make my heart warm!

Two days pass in a blur before Negan visits Dipshit again. The man is holding on, but not very strongly. Dwight looks like he might almost say anything, but it never ends well for people when they question Negan’s ways so that’s probably why he has been imitating a fish, opening and closing his mouth annoyingly when he is around Negan.

It’s annoying. But it’s also not. Negan gets some kind of sick satisfaction from seeing Dwight swallow each one of his arguments, one by one, Adam's apple bobbing forcefully. Most days, Negan wants to choke Dwight, and the need almost makes him shake. Seeing the man like that… It’s as close as he gets.

Two days, Negan thinks as he walks to the cell. Two days of not eating. Negan also took Dipshit’s clothes away, a punishment that brought tears to the man’s eyes, even when his fucked up leg didn’t—and Jesus, his leg was fucked up.

He doesn’t know what to expect at this point. He is flying blind, and it’s a thrilling thing, not knowing what Dipshit is going to do next, because Dipshit never does what Negan expects him to do. Humans… Before the world went to shit, Negan was a sweet talker, could charm the pants off of anyone, could charm their wallets open. He understood people. He played them.

Now, he isn’t dumb, he knows, before the world went to shit, he was a nobody, a nobody with too many weaknesses. But he is not weak anymore. And he is still a charmer. He knows what to say, when to say, what not to do, and it works. He is the best player out there, because it is just… so easy. Humans are so predictable that the world is Negan’s playground.

Dipshit, on the other hand, is a different case. It’s not really something the man did, not something he said, but Negan always gets this feeling when he is talking to him. This weird itch inside his skin. Maybe it’s from the way Dipshit has managed to surprise him too many times, maybe it’s because he is overrating the man inside his head, but somehow, Negan feels as if Dipshit is playing him.

Plucking his strings, making all kinds of beautiful sounds come from him, and Dipshit is playing everyone, and together they form the world’s sickest orchestra, and Dipshit keeps playing—

When Negan thinks about it, thinks about Dipshit inside his little cell that he barely fits with piss and shit dirtying the ground, the smell of sweat so strong it makes it hard to breathe, Dipshit with his filthy skin and his broken leg; it’s obvious that if life is a game, Dipshit is losing.

Still, Negan can’t shake the feeling.

When he swings the door to the cell open, Fat Joe behind him, he clears his thoughts. It’s a brand new day. And Dipshit is sleeping on the ground, curled up in a ball. His whistling quiets down and he bangs Lucille on the wall with a smirk.

Dipshit jumps ten feet into the air from the sudden, loud noise, and his breath stutters out in a nervous way. The man shakes his curls out of face, looks like he gets dizzy from it and almost fall to his side before he turns his head towards Negan.

It takes him at least a few seconds to focus, wild blue eyes recognizing Negan’s form, and he can’t help but wonder if Dİpshit took a few too many hits to the head. It happens.

He is silent as he watches Dipshit try to get up, shaking like a leaf and heavy pants falling through his lips, but it looks like the man can’t stand on his leg no matter how hard he tries, and Negan rolls his eyes. It’s better this way anyway. He likes Dipshit on his knees.

“Come here,” he orders. His voice feels too deep when it hits his ears, echoing off the barren gray walls, and it’s a small wonder, one that leaves him in awe, how Dipshit still hasn’t lost it.

At first, Negan thinks Dipshit might not obey, but then the man’s half-lidded eyes turn to Fat Joe, and slowly scan the tray in his hands, like he developed x-ray vision and can see through the metal. He must have been hungry—of course, he is, because even the promise of food underneath that tray has him crawling towards Negan on all fours, like the pathetic animal that he is.

When Dipshit acts like this, he reminds Negan of the stray dogs he used to take home with him. Too many limbs and no idea what to do with them. And the man also threatens to bring the same kind of pity out of Negan, if it was not for the anger.

One thing Negan really hates is weakness, and Dipshit is as weak as they come. Though he is not. That’s what makes Negan angry, really. Dipshit is not weak, yet he keeps acting like it.

It works in Negan’s favor, of course. He has Dipshit on his knees in front of him in seconds, but still, it fills him with rage, as most things do.

“Good boy,” Negan praises with the aim to hurt, and he gets what he wants when Dipshit looks away sharply, exhales a shaky breath. “I like you on your knees. It’s where you fucking belong.”

Dipshit is not looking at him. Dipshit refuses to look at him, and Negan guesses that maybe it’s because if Dipshit looks up, makes eye contact, then it’s real. Then it becomes reality. He is there, kneeling in front of Negan like the bitch he is, but he’s not, really. He will be if he looks up.

Negan takes the plate from Fat Joe, waves him away with a flick of his wrist, and then it’s a staring contest between him and Dipshit, and obviously, Negan is winning. The top of Dipshit’s head is not that interesting, and Negan gets bored of staring in a few seconds.

So, he decides to have a little fun. He tightens his grip on Lucille, and nudges Dipshit’s hands that are in front of his crotch. He tries to do it gently, but still, the man reacts as if he has been hit, gasping a breath and then coughing with the pain it brings.

It’s not fun. It’s not fun at all. But this is what Dipshit thinks Negan likes to do, and Negan is good at molding to shapes.

The man sways, sways, from side to side, but he doesn’t try to move away, keeps his head down like a guilty dog, and it makes something inside of Negan twitch sharply, his blood pumping a little faster.

He licks his lips. “You wanna eat?”

“Yes,” Dipshit replies instantly. Then it’s hesitant, like the subtle tremble in Dipshit’s fingers, through the obvious way he is shaking. It’s radiating off the man, hitting the walls and bouncing, going through Negan and making the air heavy to breathe. A quick breath, then, “Yes, sir.”

It’s good. Dipshit is good. He knows when to play his cards, he knows what will get Negan to groan and thrust his hips forward, inches away from Dipshit’s face if the man was looking up. Negan can guess that’s not what Dipshit was aiming for, but it’s as close to what he really wants, it’s the most Negan will give him.

“You on your knees, calling me sir… God damn!” Negan is an asshole, and he knows it, and he flaunts it, but something about Dipshit brings out another side out of him, and he doesn’t like it one bit. He doesn’t like that Dipshit has this much power on him. “Don’t start something you won’t be able to fucking finish, baby,” and the petname feels like melted plastic in his mouth, drops down to the dirty floor and stains it.

Dipshit is trembling, almost vibrating, so much that he looks blurry, or maybe that’s just Negan.

Stop, he tells himself. He is losing control. “Tell me, Dipshit… Did you deserve to eat?”

Dipshit is silent. Then he is not. “No,” he says. Waits. Breathes. Negan doesn’t breathe. “No, sir.”

It’s hesitant in the room, in the air, and Negan is hesitant where he stands. Lucille, the top of Dipshit’s head, the gray walls, it’s all taunting him, and suddenly Negan is sick of it, sick of all the noise and the lack of it, and he could do anything he wanted, he could make Dipshit scream and scream to cut the silence in the air—

What he wants, is to stop looking at the top of Dipshit’s head. “Look at me,” he orders. Orders always come easily to him.

One, two, three seconds pass, and Negan is sighing, and Dipshit’s head stays down, and it’s not as fun as it was a second ago—Negan doesn’t know why, but he always goes through emotion like clothes, and now he is swimming through them, one arm after another, and he breaks waves and he breaks the ocean.

There is anger in there, somewhere, staining the colorless water red, and Negan latches on to it, grounds himself with a painful grip.

He grips Dipshit’s hair, hears the man’s shocked gasp, feels himself bite his lower lip. He almost pulls. It would be too easy. Dipshit is his, and he can do whatever he pleases with the man. He could make Dipshit look, one tug, one pull, and that would be it.

That’s not what he wants. Negan doesn’t know what he wants. That’s not it.

One day, Negan will order, and Dipshit will obey without blinking, and it’s too easy to see in the back of his eyelids, if he closes his eyes; Dipshit looks as if he was made for this, made for kneeling in front Negan, eyes bluer than the sea Negan’s mind is swimming in.

That’s why he lets go, with a sigh, leaves.

Dipshit doesn’t try to stop him.

*

Negan is not a patient man. He waits another two days before he visits Dipshit again. It’s maybe the most waiting he has done since the god damn apocalypse knocked down his doors without invitation, and he doesn’t know what that might mean, doesn’t want to think too hard on it.

People do things without reason all the time. Negan is not one of those people, but he will allow himself this.

Once again, when he swings open the door with a cheerful whistle on his smirking lips, Dipshit is sleeping. It’s a brand new day, Negan thinks to himself. Most of the time, Dipshit is sleeping. Dwight tells him that most times, the man wakes up with a scream that’s stuck in his throat choking him.

Dwight also tells him that some days, Dipshit is too tired to have dreams, or nightmares, and some days, the man is too tired to wake up. Some days, he sleeps like the dead. One day, he won’t wake up. Mostly, that’s where Negan makes Dwight shut up.

It’s too easy to imagine, walking into the cell to see Dipshit’s malnourished form growling and snapping its teeth on the ground. The corpse wouldn’t be able to get up, Dipshit’s leg is too fucked up for that, but it would crawl on the ground where Dipshit used to sleep, and it would writhe, so hungry, hungry like Dipshit had been.

Once it’s close enough, Dwight would stomp on its head, killing it for real, and the cell would fall silent again, not even Easy Street playing.

In Negan’s fantasies, he is never the one hurting Dipshit.

It’s too easy to imagine, even easier, when he bangs Lucille on the wall, and Dipshit doesn’t jump up as he did two days ago. Negan feels something stir inside of him, his mind flashes to the way he eyed Dipshit’s body, how the man didn’t have too much fat to begin with, and how he was losing muscles fast. Dipshit’s ribs had always been too easy to count, and Negan could dip his finger inside every gap, count the man’s sping, trace his tongue on the highs and the lows—

Dipshit already is a dead man walking, with his sickly gray skin and strandy hair that is falling out every day. It was only a matter of time, Negan thinks, and then stills. It is only a matter of time, because Dipshit stirs. He is not dead. Yet.

He will be soon, if you keep this up, someone inside Negan’s mind whispers and it sticks to his brain like filth, something he can’t shake off, though he tries by gently shaking his head.

Dipshit is awake, and he is trying to get up, squinting at Negan like he doesn’t recognize, like he doesn’t even recognize where he is.

In times like this, Negan doesn’t really know what to do, but he is really good at bullshitting. “You don’t look so good, Dipshit,” Negan drawls, feet padding heavily on the ground as he walks closer to the man, and Negan tells himself it’s not because he thinks Dipshit might not make it to him. It’s not. “Come on. You know how this works. Get on your knees.”

Dipshit blinks, eyes under filthy curls, and Negan has the urge to swipe it back, or maybe chop it all off. Then Dipshit blinks again, eyelashes fluttering, and the man looks about ready to pass out. Negan can’t help but wonder if he has been sleeping alright. “Dipshit,” Negan warns, dragging the word out in an impatient way.

It gets the man moving, at least Dipshit pushes himself up on his arms, red in the face and with a groan. The pain, Negan thinks. Dipshit is already shaking and they haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.

No matter how much he tries, Dipshit can’t properly kneel, and Negan feels like his favorite toy has been taken away from him. With a growl, he pulls on Dipshit’s hair, and the man rises instinctively, yelping with the pain the movement causes him. There is a faraway look in his teary eyes, staring up at Negan, and he is a puppet, his strings are his hair, and Negan is holding them.

He pulls once again, he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s punishment, maybe he just likes hearing Dipshit scream. “Jesus, sweetheart,” and Dipshit flinches, tries to move away as if the petname hurt more than the physical abuse, and satisfaction rolls through Negan in waves, crashes on his beach and breaks down all of Dipshit’s sandcastles.

Something cold is settling inside Negan’s bones, and he wants it out, but when he lets go off Dipshit’s hair, the man sways forward and almost falls face first on to the ground. Negan stops him with a steady hand on his shoulder, and it worries him, how Dipshit didn’t even put his hands out to soften the blow.

A breath, then in between the next, Dipshit tries to move away. His reaction time is slow, slower than Negan’s mind trying to come out with something to say. “You are a god damn mess,” he settles for in the end, and it’s a whisper that coats the walls. Dipshit doesn’t react.

When he looks up, there is nothing in his eyes except miles and miles, and he is so far away that it would take days to reach him. Blank confusion, Negan sees, and it makes him angry, to see Dipshit look at him but not hold the emotions Negan knows he put in there. The man seems as if he forgot, and that doesn’t sit well with Negan at all.

His scowl feels heavy on his lips, stretches his skin uncomfortable, and the length in Dipshit’s eyes stretch on until he is impossible to reach.

Lower lip trembling, Dipshit shakes, but he doesn’t recognize the fear.

“You hungry, Dipshit?” And there is a reaction there, inside the man’s lungs, where his breath stutters to a stop.

“Food,” Dipshit replies, mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ shape, lips chapped to hell. His voice is hoarse from screaming, because Dipshit screams in his sleep, when he is not too tired to dream.

Fat Joe thinks they are being too harsh on the man. He tells Negan, maybe we are being too harsh on the man, and it’s a sentence everyone has been thinking but they were all too afraid to voice it. Fat Joe gets a beating for it, and Negan knows nobody will try to voice anything again, not if he has a say in it.

“You know what you have to do if you really want to eat, baby?” Negan drawls, and the petname is sticking to his lips, and sticking to his brain, and Dipshit doesn’t even flinch this time. He just blinks, confused, like he doesn’t understand what he needs to do. “Have you understood it yet?”

The silence seems infinite, but it’s only mere minutes that stretch on like the miles inside Dipshit’s eyes. “W—what?” Dipshit stutters, and sways on the spot, and almost falls down, but he doesn’t scream, doesn’t recognize the pain when Negan corrects his posture with rough hands.

“You’re real fucking hungry?” He asks, and waits, and waits, before finally, Dipshit gives a nod, hesitant like everything is in the tiny space they are occupying, but not hesitant at all. “Then all you have to do is lick my fucking boots clean.”

And then the silence stretches like a rubber band in Negan’s hands, and it stretches for so long that Negan is ready to let it go, he doesn’t care if it hits someone, he doesn’t care if it hits Dipshit in the fucking eye. It’s uncomfortable, the way they stand, they way Dipshit doesn’t stand, and there are ants crawling underneath Negan’s skin.

Finally, a breath. “W—what?”

It can not be that hard to understand, and inside Negan’s mind, the image of banging Dipshit’s head to the wall flashes like a dream. “Lick my boots clean,” he repeats. Rolls his eyes. It’s always too hard with Dipshit, and it’s always too easy to get angry. “I’m talking English, aren’t I?”

“No,” Dipshit replies, and his head shakes, his body sways, and Negan knows there are more than another thousand of no’s bottled inside the man’s tiny frame. A flick of his eyes and Dipshit looks down, looks sick, stares at Negan’s boots all the while Negan tries to shake the anger off his shoulder because it is heavy and bruising. “No,” Dipshit repeats.

“No? No, you don’t want food?” Maybe Dipshit wants to starve after all, and Negan will let him. All this progress and the ice in his bones, the fire in his veins, and Negan thinks, hell no—but Negan will let him. If Dipshit wants to starve, then Negan will make sure he does.

“No. I want—food… Food. Please.” Negan wonders if Dipshit worked on his little speech with how much the man is repeating it, with how it’s the only sentence Dipshit doesn’t have to think for minutes before uttering.

“I told you what you have to fucking do—“

“But it’s not just—not about—“ Dipshit interrupts and Negan slaps the man hard, doesn’t even allow him to fall down with the force of his blow by tightening his iron grip on the curls. It’s always easy for his hands to turn in to fists. There is no decision involved. It’s all just nature, and Negan is a force of nature, controlled by it.

“Don’t make me kill you, Dipshit. Don’t make it easy for me.” Then he lowers himself to Dipshit’s level, crouching in front of the kneeling man. He is too old for it. His bones ache. It’s a welcomed change to the icy feeling that always takes control of him when he is around Dipshit. “You will never interrupt me again.”

Dipshit nods, nods, doesn’t look like he understands what he is agreeing to. The space around them is silent, and then it’s not, when Negan slaps the man again, relishes in the way his palm stings, warm with ants crawling under his skin, grounds himself with the way the harsh sound of palm meeting gentle skin echoes off the walls and fills the every little gap in the cell. His heart is beating, fast.

“You will never interrupt me again! Right?”

“Never interrupt. R—right.” Tears are making their way down the man’s cheek, and Dipshit doesn’t notice it, and Negan ignores it, and the tears don’t exist, and nothing exists but the tight grip Negan has on Dipshit’s jaw.

“Right,” Negan repeats, making direct eye contact, and it’s all a game, and Negan plays well, he is the best player in that tiny cell, the best player in this fucked up world, but then Dipshit shivers, and the flutter of his eyelashes, the distance in his eyes, it makes Negan nervous.

He pats the man’s cheek twice, just to be condescending, just to get out of the tight grip Dipshit has on him.

“Food. Please.”

Negan rolls his eyes so hard he almost sees his brain. It’s pathetic, but he doesn’t know what is. Him or Dipshit or the situation Negan made them get stuck in. “I told you what you have to fucking do if you are really hungry, Dipshit.” And Negan is slipping a little, forgets to use the petname, forgets to aim straight for the heart.

“I can’t—Negan, please. I will die. I need… Food. Please.”

And there’s nothing there for Negan to take but he doesn’t like it when his hands are empty.

“I think I’m being a pretty reasonable guy, Dipshit. You live off our back, you do nothing t contribute, but here I am, fucking offering you food, like the stand-up guy I fucking am! The one thing I want in return is some damn respect and your tongue on my boots, but you can’t even do that, can you?”

Dipshit is still crying and Negan’s hands feel emptier, clutching the air. The man is giving him everything but it’s nothing, and Negan wants something to hold.

“This is not about… About your damn boots,” and Dipshit has the bravery, the audacity to sound angry. Then the man shakes his head, blinks away the dizziness that comes with it, and suddenly, the man shakes off the anger too, like Negan has been trying all this time, like Negan has been failing to do all this time. “It’s more—it’s more,” Dipshit is whispering, too. It’s always more with him, Negan knows. Dipshit is about to learn, too.

“You would rather die?” It’s too hot inside the cell, and Negan is sweating, and his blood is boiling underneath his skin. More, is what he needs.

“No. I just—please! I need food… but I can’t. I can’t do—do that.” Dipshit is begging so much, begging, and Negan wonders when it got this easy to get the man this desperate, and then inside his mind churns the past few days, and it’s too hot in the cell. He wonders how Dipshit managed to not lose it earlier.

That’s a thought. Negan doesn’t want it.

When he slaps Dipshit again, it’s brutal and cruel and everything Negan should be, everything he is. Quick, merciless. When Dipshit falls, he doesn’t try to get back up, and Negan thinks, this is it.

More, is this. Because Dipshit has given him everything already.

Negan is still hungry for it. He is not a man familiar with giving up, not since the world ended and a new one took its place. He gets what he wants, and Dipshit will give it to him.

He listens to the man wheeze for a few seconds before he pulls him to his knees with a rough grip, one that makes Dipshit scream, a blood-curdling sound that makes Negan’s hand tighten their grip. It smells of sweat, piss, shit, and blood, in the bubble they exist. Dipshit blinks. Negan stands. He is so much taller than the pathetic mess at his feet.

“You want another option, baby?”

It’s easy for Dipshit to reply to that, but maybe not, because Negan never makes anything easy for the man. “Yes—yes, please.”

“Okay, here’s another option,” Negan drawls and licks his lips, smirks with his tongue peeking out between his teeth, and his teeth feel too sharp, and he feels too sharp standing in front of the soft meat in front of him.

Dipshit is looking up at him, fluttering his eyelashes to keep the tears away, trembling. There should be a sign on the man’s forehead that says ‘handle with care’ like he is a box full of good china, a box that Negan is about to leave dents in.

It’s easy, for Negan.

He cups his dick through his pants, and between a breath and the next, Dipshit’s eyes follow the moment, and between a breath and the next, the man looks about ready to faint. “You can suck my fucking dick.” It’s as easy as that.

“No!” Dipshit is screaming, and it makes the fine hair on the back of Negan’s neck stand up. The man shakes his head, tries to crawl away from Negan, and Negan is tasting ash, and he is tasting bile. “No!”

In that moment, Dipshit is a feral animal, trying to run away from its predator. Negan is the predator. He doesn’t want to be, anything at all.

“Stop screaming!” Negan yells, because it’s always easy for Negan, it’s easy to get angry, to yell, and break, and wave Lucille around like a threat. He waves Lucille around a little, then. Dipshit is whimpering, and then scrambling away. Corner of the room. He is curled up in a ball.

There are things the man is whispering under his breath but Negan can’t hear it, doesn’t want to. Something inside him tells him that they are not meant for him to hear anyway.

It’s hard, not easy, to imagine Dipshit that first came in here. Crawled through the fucking vents for revenge, blood all over him, not kneeling even when he was beaten into it, giving Negan snark even on his knees… It smells of blood and fear, inside the cell. It’s easy to see that Negan has broken him.

“Joseph,” he calls out and Fat Joe comes in, carrying a tray. Negan eyes the man’s black eye, feels something inside of him turn cold, and it smells of rot. Taking the plate, waving the man away, it’s all just so Negan can avoid looking at him some more.

“You want the food, Dipshit?” Negan asks angrily, doesn’t really know what he has to be angry about. Dipshit always finds a way to surprise him, like right then, Negan excepts the man to start begging again, because there is no way that Dipshit is not completely gone after… After what Negan did to him.

But then, a scream, and Dipshit won’t stop screaming. “Fuck you! I won’t—I’m gonna kill you—“

“God fucking damn it,” Negan growls, dumps the tray onto the floor, the sandwich falling out and flopping to the filthy ground with a wet slop that neither of them can hear. Dipshit is screaming, inside the cell, and it echoes inside Negan’s mind. It’s all threats and curses.

Negan’s ears are ringing.

He turns around. Leaves. Dipshit keeps yelling until Negan closes the door behind himself.

After that, it’s all a stretch, it’s all Negan stretching towards the door without taking a step. In the hallway, Negan is this: trying to hear what Dipshit has to say once he gets out of the animal trap he found himself in.

In the cell, Dipshit is laughing.

Sleep doesn’t come that night, and neither does any of his Wives. Negan spends the night tossing and turning in bed, and his ears are still ringing, and he wonders how long.

How long until Dipshit stars begging him for mercy.

He is not sure if he is ready for it.

*

The next day, Negan is jittery. He can’t wait to see Dipshit, and something else. He doesn’t know what, really, but there is something else making him jittery. He doesn’t dwell on it.

He is wondering, has been wondering all night, if Dpshit ate the food or just a took big fucking shit on it. That’s how he ends up in front of the cell, unable to wait much longer.

Behind him is Dwight, carrying a tray. Fat Joe is working other jobs until his injuries heal.

When he swings the door open and light streams inside, he can see Dipshit is already trying to stand, leaning against the wall with one foot in such weird shape that for a second, Negan can’t help but wonder if the bone is poking out of the skin.

He doesn’t remember hitting Dipshit there, doesn’t remember hitting that hard. It must have been one of his men, and Negan barely pushes the anger that comes along with that thought. He doesn’t mind his toys being broken, only if he was the one who broke them.

There is no time for all of that inside the cell, though. Dipshit is shielding his crotch with his hands, it’s a brand new day, and all of this amuses Negan.

“Dipshit!” He greets with a cheery voice, sees Dipshit shake with the force of it. “I see you are awake and at it again.”

“Yes,” Dipshit nods, tries to stand straighter, but it’s all just a pathetic attempt that means nothing in the end.

There is that fire in the man’s eyes, one that Negan wasn’t aware he missed. Seeing it there, fills him with emotions. He is angry and he is relieved, and he doesn’t know what he is.

Dipshit stares, with hate. “Thank you for the food.”

Negan doesn’t let it show on his face, how surprised he is by that. Dipshit, the man is always surprising him, somehow, and Negan yearns for the day that he will be a step ahead. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dipshit,” With a smirk, “It was a fucking pleasure seeing you on your knees, eating off the ground like the filthy animal you are.”

It’s a test, like dipping your feet into the pool to see how cold it is. From the way Dipshit blinks, turns his head to avoid Negan’s eyes like he can’t bear to exists in front of the man, the pool is warm. Like blood.

His memory is hazy, just like Negan guessed. Ideas are already invading his mind, about how easily he could destroy Dipshit right then and there, make the pool even warmer by decorating it with Dipshit’s insides.

“I can’t believe you were even ready to suck my dick for some damn food.” That’s all it would take, and it would be so easy, for Negan to take, and he burns with the anticipation of it, can’t quite control the subtle shakiness of his hands. Grip Lucille tighter, and he swallows everything.

“Anyway, Dipshit,” Negan tries to shake his head, shake the thoughts away. Doesn’t quite manage it. “I’m here to offer you a one-time offer! You ready to hear it?”

And Dipshit looks hesitant, and the room is hesitant around them, like it’s not quite sure if it exists or not. Negan grips the air tighter, even though it means turning his hands into fists, and Dipshit is looking at them, like they might just come to life and start striking.

“Yes,” the man says through gritted teeth, like it was forced out of him, something ripped from deep inside his skin. Negan smirks, like it’s easy.

“You remember what I asked you to do yesterday?” Then Dipshit’s eyes are widening. He shakes, he blurs, Negan can’t see him anymore, and in that moment, they are both thinking. Negan doesn’t want the man to be thinking, about that. “I told you to lick my boots, remember?”

Then, Dipshit is clear. “I refused.”

The man skips to the last bit, doesn’t bother with all the words in the middle that they must speak. Negan likes it, actually. Dipshit doesn’t have too many breaths left, even though he has all the time in the world, he doesn’t waste any of it.

“Yes, you fucking did,” With a scowl that he hopes raises some fear in Dipshit, because what does all of this mean if Dipshit isn’t even scared of him? If the man is, he doesn’t show it any more than usual, the trembling of his lips, is anger. “Now I’m giving you another fucking chance—“

“I don’t want it,” Dipshit snarls in the way a feral animal does, tries to make himself bigger like he might explode, all in the hopes that Negan, the predator will leave him, but the cell is Negan’s jungle, the world is his playground, and he controls the construct, he decides if people get to be scary or not, and in his jungle, he is only scared of himself. Rage, is familiar.

His hand, connecting Dipshit’s cheek, is familiar. Dwight turns away.

Negan’s palm is burning. He is not as mean as he could be, and that should be something Dipshit should appreciate, get on his knees and thank Negan for, lick Negan’s fucking boots for. Dipshit’s head snaps to the side, and the man doesn’t even bother turning it back.

“Now why would you be so fucking stupid?” The words are tumbling out and they fall down, down, even lower than where Dipshit stands. The man is silent.

When he turns his head, his eyes flick to Dwight, and he stares. Negan gets it. Doesn’t like it, but he will allow it for the time being.

“D,” he calls out to the empty silence of the cell, “get lost for a few minutes.”

Dwight obeys, because that’s what Dwight does, because Dwight knows what will happen if he doesn’t, he sees it every damn day in the mirror—and there is a thought. Maybe Negan should give Dipshit a mirror.

It’s amusing. Because Negan would actually do that, if he was naive enough to think that Dipshit wouldn’t try to drive a piece of the mirror through his skull at the first chance he got—or maybe not the first. Dipshit is smart. The man would know to wait for the perfect moment.

In the moment, Dwight’s footsteps are getting fainter, echoing away. Dipshit is looking at Negan again, and his gaze makes Negan whistle, dirty, low.

“I can’t be Negan,” Dipshit speaks. “Not like them. I have to be out there.”

It’s the most the man has spoken, maybe, and Negan burns with the power of those words. He burns with anger, too. Negan is not a man to be rejected, not since he turned this fuck-up a world into his jungle, not since he became the lion, the king.

“Why the fuck not?” It’s simple. He wants answers and not just bullshit.

Dipshit is silent for a few seconds. Eyes flicking back and forth between Negan’s, occasionally dropping down, like he might be looking at Negan’s lips, but the fire is too great for Negan to be foolish enough to believe that might be the case.

The man stares, Negan stares back. Hell, he even allows himself to take a few glimpses at Dipshit’s pretty lips, pink and kissable, chapped to hell but that has never been a problem. Negan is an asshole, he bites his lower lip.

“I don’t belong here,” Dipshit says then, and Negan almost laughs. Such a lame excuse, fucking bullshit, not what Negan wants at all—because Negan knows there is a reason Dipshit hasn’t caved yet. It’s not because the man is stupid.

Maybe he has a family out there. A group. He needs to go back, for them. Because if Dipshit was truly alone, he would have submitted long ago, for himself.

Then Negan laughs, because he can.

Gets up, but before he leaves, he spits Dipshit on the face, and the man is too weak his reflexes are too slow, doesn’t manage to move out of the way.

As Negan is walking away, he hears Dipshit’s disgusted and angry growl, the man almost sounding like an animal. He smirks, tongue between his teeth that feel too sharp, and closes the door behind him.

One day, Dipshit will beg him not to leave. Negan waits for it.


End file.
